The Happiest Day
by Linda Pastan
It was early May, I think
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
My mother and father still hovered
in the background, part of the scenery
like the houses I had grown up in,
and if they would be torn down later
that was something I knew
but didn't believe. Our children were asleep
or playing, the youngest as new
as the new smell of the lilacs,
and how could I have guessed
their roots were shallow
and would be easily transplanted.
I didn't even guess that I was happy.
The small irritations that are like salt
on melon were what I dwelt on,
though in truth they simply
made the fruit taste sweeter.
So we sat on the porch
in the cool morning, sipping
hot coffee. Behind the news of the day—
strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere—
I could see the top of your dark head
and thought not of public conflagrations
but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.
If someone could stop the camera then…
if someone could only stop the camera
and ask me: are you happy?
perhaps I would have noticed
how the morning shone in the reflected
color of lilac. Yes, I might have said
and offered a steaming cup of coffee.
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
My mother and father still hovered
in the background, part of the scenery
like the houses I had grown up in,
and if they would be torn down later
that was something I knew
but didn't believe. Our children were asleep
or playing, the youngest as new
as the new smell of the lilacs,
and how could I have guessed
their roots were shallow
and would be easily transplanted.
I didn't even guess that I was happy.
The small irritations that are like salt
on melon were what I dwelt on,
though in truth they simply
made the fruit taste sweeter.
So we sat on the porch
in the cool morning, sipping
hot coffee. Behind the news of the day—
strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere—
I could see the top of your dark head
and thought not of public conflagrations
but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.
If someone could stop the camera then…
if someone could only stop the camera
and ask me: are you happy?
perhaps I would have noticed
how the morning shone in the reflected
color of lilac. Yes, I might have said
and offered a steaming cup of coffee.
"My mother and father still hovered in the background, part of the scenery like the houses I had grown up in, and if they would be torn down later that was something I knew but didn't believe." She put her insightful finger on that one, didn't she? And cheers to stopping the camera to notice we are happy.
ReplyDeletePamela,
ReplyDeleteI had just been reading "The Blessing" in a poetry group last week and loved it. I so look forward to all of your posts. They touch me on every level. I grew up in the South, am a complete Anglophile and love to bake as well. I have cats and grandchildren but love dogs!
Thank you for your inspiration to live a more creative life. I have your book and love it.
Patty (Smith)
Dear Pamela,
ReplyDeleteThank you for leading me gently back into poetry, for reminding me of its exquisite power to say more with less. As I plan for a new school year, I pledge to share more rich poetry with my students… Magical things happen when I do!
WOW!!
ReplyDeletethese are incredible comments!!
I agree! I wanted to compliment your poetry!
And send a massage (including a tummy rub) to both doggies! Are they with you?
Penelope
That is such a bitter sweet Poem Pamela - it almost breaks the heart to read it. Poetry at its best says such a lot.
ReplyDeleteI didn't know this poet. Thank you for the introduction.
ReplyDeleteThis poet is new to me and reminds me to realize NOW that I am happy. Now at this moment.
ReplyDeleteThis is Lovely!
ReplyDeleteAre you still beachy?
X
I am enjoying all of your poetry days, Pamela, but this one; ah, this one tugged at me a bit more. Lovely, lovely, lovely.
ReplyDeletePoetry so beautiful + thank you. xxpeggybraswelldesign.com
ReplyDelete